


Hope and Feathers and Some Shit

by Creatortan



Series: Emily Dickinson is a Lesbian [1]
Category: South Park
Genre: Denial of Feelings, F/F, Fem kyman is GOOD, Fem!kyman, Fluff, Genderbend, High School, Mild Sexual Content, Mutual Pining, Sexual Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, canon typical language, kenny tries to play matchmaker, mentioned Stan/Wendy, oh yeah, theyre both BIG OL LESBIANS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-03-28 11:16:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13902864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Creatortan/pseuds/Creatortan
Summary: She didn’t have a crush, of course not.- -Kylie and Erica wax poetic about the crushes they obviously don’t have on each other.





	1. Cartman

**Author's Note:**

> Here’s a name ref:  
> Kylie-Kyle  
> Erica-Eric  
> Starlene/Star-Stanley/Stan  
> Kennethia/Kenny-Kenny  
> Marjorie-Butters  
> Wendyl-Wendy  
> Bobby-Bebe  
> Andy-Annie (Knitts/Nelson)  
> Ezra-Esther  
> Linus-Lizzie

Erica Cartman certainly wasn’t a supermodel, drop dead gorgeous sexy type of person—that particular honor would go to Kenny—but there was still something...beautiful, in a way, about Cartman.

She had a thorough personal hygiene routine, with nightly facemasks and expensive conditioners. Thus, her skin was left baby-soft and perfectly clear in a way enviable to every other teen in the school. Her skin tone was even, and when her face turned red it was always high on the apples of her cheeks or the tips of her ears—not splotchy and ruddy like some of her other peers.

Her hair always had a healthy shine, and never looked greasy or unclean or with a single strand out of place. Cartman’s hair was pretty, to put it simply. It was a dark brown with natural chestnut highlights and fell softly around her face in a simple bob. Her hair was often overlooked, though, from how it was usually hidden under her signature cap—but when she took her hat off, it was like her whole demeanor became a little softer, more feminine in an almost innocent way.

Cartman may have been heavier than most girls around her, but she carried her extra weight well. Her frame was shorter and thicker but it left her curvy and soft.

Her eyes were heterochromatic—segmented, not completely—so they were mostly a rich brown, light and tinted to look almost gold in certain lights, but with patches of a deep, rich blue scattered around them.

Her eyebrows were thick and dark, without the need to be filled in, but they were also well-shaped, with dangerous angles and an almost unnatural symmetry. Her eyelashes were short, but they were full and thick.

Her lips were small and pink, with a slightly plumper lower lip which made her look as though she was pouting. And her lips were never chapped or cracking, even in the freezing, dry Colorado winters.

Other girls often swore she was wearing makeup, or that she did something. No one could have skin that perfect, a blush that perfect, eyebrows that perfect—without some help. But Cartman didn’t wear any makeup, and didn’t need to pluck or wax her face. The most she wore was lipgloss or chapstick, and the occasional appearance of sharp winged eyeliner or some mascara.

That was the issue with Erica Cartman. Her individual features were all very pretty, beautiful even, but when they came together they culminated into _Cartman_. And the only way for any sane person to be attracted to Erica Cartman was to not know her at all.

Kylie Broflovski, however, was most likely certifiably insane, in that case. But who wasn’t in South Park?

So despite Cartman’s godawful personality, Kylie still found herself wanting to run her fingers through Cartman’s short hair, to see her lips flushed red and bitten, to feel Cartman’s weight over her lap as Kylie held her.

It wasn’t a crush, obviously, just some pent up attraction. Kylie just sometimes wished she could’ve felt that way for Kenny or Star, but who was she to tell herself what to be attracted to.

As long as no one found out she would be fine. As long as no one knew how much Kylie wanted to leave a trail of splotchy red and purple marks down Cartman’s neck, so the other girl would have to wear turtlenecks and scarves for a week, like a dirty little secret. How much she wanted to lap her tongue on the underside of Cartman’s teeth to hear her sigh into Kylie’s mouth.

But it was all just appearance. Just...just Cartman’s appearance. Kylie wasn’t attracted to her personality or anything that would suggest farther feelings than simple, easy lust.

...Even though a huge portion of Cartman’s sex appeal came from the way she carried herself, of her unwavering, smug confidence and the completely sure tone of her voice.

And even though Kylie spent half of their mounting arguments trying to ignore the warm tingle in her lower abdomen. Trying to calm her twitching fingers from reaching out and latching onto Cartman’s neck when they stood face to face. Where Kylie could see every fleck of furious passion in Cartman’s eyes and smell the vanilla that clung to her skin.

Sometimes, they would stand so close Kylie could feel the press of Cartman’s chest against her own, and she’d suck in a sharp breath and try to ignore it. Try to ignore the urge to _grab_ —

Sometimes they would get physical. Kylie had pinned Cartman to the wall more times than she could count, relishing in her height for once, for the way it allowed her to glare down at Cartman, triumphant. She loved feeling the tense curl of Cartman’s shoulders under her hands, knowing the other girl was wound up as much as she was, ready to pounce.

And when she did, they toppled to the floor in a flurry of flailing, clutching limbs. They never fought dirty—never went for hair or nails—they just tried to outwit each other, to get the other pinned to the ground. Kylie always felt the rush of adrenaline when she had her thighs around Cartman’s hips, pressed flush against the other girl, the two panting in sync as Kylie watched Cartman’s burning eyes and reddened face below her.

It wasn’t so bad being under Cartman either. It was exciting, almost, to be trapped like that, under the cage of Cartman’s arms, her legs bracketing Kylie’s torso, close enough to touch.

Kylie may, or may not, have used their fights as and opportunity to feel Cartman up, as much as she’d be ashamed to admit it. She knew in their tussles no one would bat an eye if a palm “accidentally” slid up an inner thigh when trying to flip someone over. But Kylie’s “accidental” touches were always too chaste, too quick. Kylie was crazy paranoid about getting caught, so she forced herself to steal unsatisfyingly light brushes, which always left her wishing she could take more.

Once, though, Cartman had Kylie in a headlock, and as she frantically clawed at Cartman’s arms, one of her hands unintentionally found one of Cartman’s breasts and squeezed. Cartman let go of Kylie with a strangled squeal, darting backwards several feet with her arms crossed protectively. Kylie just laid there, sprawled on the concrete, caught in the whiplash. When her mind caught up to her, Kylie knew her face was an ugly bright red. She and Cartman went home on awkward terms, but later that night Kylie vividly remembered the way Cartman felt against her, let her mind wander somewhere far away.

Alone in her room, Kylie let herself wander. In the safety of the dark, Kylie replayed their arguments and let her body grow hot under the memories. She let a guilty hand trail down more than a few times, and always made sure to fall asleep before the shame could kick in.

Those nights, she always found herself drifting off to the innocent daydream of Cartman falling asleep next to her.

But as much as Kylie thoroughly enjoyed their arguments, secretly, she preferred those rare times where they got along.

There were those moments when, for whatever reason, Kylie and Cartman were on the same side. As a team, they demolished the competition. Their minds worked in sync, and they bounced ideas off of one another flawlessly, a rapid-fire of constant attacks. They were ruthless in achieving their goals. It was a rush. The only thing Kylie could compare the feeling to was when she and Cartman fought. Only Cartman made her feel that way.

Even sweeter, were the quiet moments. Away from prying eyes, where just the two of them could exist in a soft, vulnerable state. Those moments were Kylie’s favorite. They felt so good because they were so rare, because Cartman had up so many walls. For Kylie to be there when those walls came down, to be the _reason_ for those walls coming down, felt incredible, and Kylie wanted to monopolize every small grin, every sincere laugh.

Maybe Kylie was selfish like that. Sometimes she felt bad about it, but then Star and Kenny would brag about their boyfriends and dates and Cartman would just roll her eyes dramatically and Kylie would quietly laugh in return and it would just be this little private moment only they shared. And Kylie wanted to keep those moments wrapped up in her pocket forever.

There was something about the bond she had with Cartman, always charged and electric, knowing and sometimes sweet, that Kylie cherished. She loved Star—how could she not love her super-best—but sometimes Kylie could feel the disconnect between them. Their relationship was easy because they knew each other, they were used to each other after all those years of friendship. If they met for the first time _now_ Kylie didn’t know if she would give her a passing glance.

Kylie’s relationship with Cartman was effortlessly easy. The girl frustrated her to no fucking end, but it wouldn’t be the same if she didn’t, if they didn’t argue the way they did. It was part of what made them work. They argued because they wanted to. Because it felt good to have someone to keep up with, someone who pushed back. They knew their limits, they challenged each other. Kylie knew no matter how long she’d been without seeing Cartman, they would always fall back into their old patterns, easy as breathing.

With others, there was always a transition period where Kylie would have to relearn how to be with them. When Star was away for the summer before 8th grade, she came back after puberty had really started to take a hold, when both of them were in the midst of untangling themselves. Kylie had been confused about herself, but also confused at her place next to Star. It was only halfway through the semester that Kylie learned about Star losing her virginity that summer to her on-and-off boyfriend Wendyl. And Kylie had to learn it from Kenny. By accident.

Cartman comforted her through that particular fight, in an odd way only Cartman could. She and Kylie trespassed on private property on a dare, stole beer from Cartman’s mom, and argued until the sun went down and they were both drowsy with booze and exhaustion and Kylie hadn’t thought of Star’s betrayal in hours.

When Cartman left to visit family in Nebraska before sophomore year, she came back with a whole new wardrobe and a hickey on her neck. And immediately the first thing she did upon pulling into her driveway with her shiny new drivers’ permit was to yell up at Kylie through her open bedroom window and call her a slimy Jew. And Kylie leaned against her windowsill and yelled right back, as if Cartman had only been gone twenty minutes instead of a whole summer. It was only later she found herself noticing how Cartman had ditched her shapeless hoodies and baggy jeans for fitted miniskirts and black leggings under croptops and lettermans.

And unlike Stan, Cartman didn’t skimp out on any of the details of her summer. To any of them. Unfortunately.

When they all sat around playing video games Cartman bragged about the “totally smoking foreign exchange student” she made out with at a party before the left Nebraska. Star was in disbelief, “who the hell would want to make out with you, fatass?” But Cartman had the very real hickey to prove she wasn’t lying.

Kenny highfived her, and then she and Star tag-teamed Cartman with questions she was more than happy to answer, with a smug look on her face.

Kylie couldn’t meet her eyes the rest of the night.

  
A few days later, when it was just Kenny and Kylie at the bus stop, Kenny brought it up again. With a knowing, mischievous grin, Kenny asked if Kylie had noticed anything weird about Cartman’s story when she told it. If she noticed how strange it was Cartman never gave a name, didn’t have any pictures. How odd it was that she never once used any pronouns to describe her mystery date.

Kylie told Kenny she was being nosy, and asked she drop the subject. Kenny went quiet, but she still kept that grin on her face as the bus pulled up, stopping the conversation for them.

Kylie begrudgingly admitted Kenny was right, but didn’t let that get her hopes up.

Not that she had any hopes to begin with.


	2. Kylie Fucking Broflovski

Kylie. Fucking. Broflovski.

The bane of Erica’s entire existence.

Erica hated Kylie with every fiber of her body. The other girl was so fucking infuriating. Erica could not keep her mind off of the fucking Jew and it had been slowly eating at her sanity since they were in fucking diapers. Fuck.

Erica had come to the realization she was a little bit obsessed with the other girl a long time ago. She just knew it in the way she vied for her attention, practically demanding it. She perfected the art of getting Kylie to look at her by the second grade. She knew it from the deep, grinding pain in her gut when Kylie rejected her, ignored her, walked away from her. Erica Cartman was a possessive person, and somewhere along the line her subconscious decided Kylie belonged to her.

She was okay calling them “rivals” and “arch-enemies” until Erica made some uncomfortable realizations about herself and those terms started to feel too small for what she thought she and Kylie could be. There were...several realizations, but the only one Erica was willing to entertain was the fact that she found Kylie fucking Broflovski sexy as hell.

Erica...was into girls. Exclusively. She thought she liked boys for a while, but looking back? It was obvious how fucking gay she was. She’d been a little dyke since the first time she saw tits on TV from her crib. She just...never connected the dots. She always had a lot of feelings for girls and for Kylie, she just never had a name for those feelings.

Hell, Kylie was probably the single-handed catalyst for Erica’s sexual awakening. When they were in the gym locker room in middle school and Erica suddenly noticed she’d been staring at Kylie’s cute pink training bra and matching panties and realized _oh fuck_ that’s _what that is._

Then Erica went home and buried her face in her arms and yelled at her mom to go away when she didn’t come down for dinner. Erica finally had a name for those weird impulses she had around girls but never went through with. For all the times she tried to talk Marjorie into kissing her when they were kids, all the times Kenny actually _did_ kiss her when they were kids, for each and every time her heart stuttered in her chest when a pretty cashier or nurse or stranger in the street smiled at her and cooed over how cute she was.

For all the times she dreamed about Kylie gripping her by the throat and staring down at her with those _intense_ green eyes and waking up panting and too-hot. For all the times Kylie pulled her hair into a bun at the top of her hand and Erica’s throat went dry at the sight of Kylie’s pale neck. All the times Erica had guiltily looked up porn in her room, late at night in the dark under her blankets, and found herself drawn to domineering redheads, when in the midst of her pleasured haze her mind would flicker to a snarling, familiar voice— _fucking fatass, fucking Cartman, you’re gonna fucking pay for that—_ and she would topple over the edge with a muffled whimper.

Finally she found a name for all that. She was a fucking queer. Problem solved, _if_ she didn’t live in the middle of Hickstown Nowhere. But whatever. She could live. She’d just canoodle around with kids from Nebraska when she got the chance, or let Kenny feel her up and mouth at her neck. She and Ken were close enough for that. Experimenting was normal. Even if she was pretty sure Kenny knew the game she was playing and was just humoring her at that point. Whatever.

It would all be _whatever_ if she didn’t have another huge hurdle in her way. A huge hurdle named, you fucking guessed it, Kylie fucking Broflovski.

As stated before, Erica couldn’t keep her fucking mind off of Kylie. It was absolute torture being near her so often but Erica was so _greedy_ for it.

The worst part about it was that Kylie didn’t even _know_ how hot she was! Hell, she _denied_ how good-looking she was!

Kylie complained about how unpopular she was and how no one wanted to date her when, _hello!_ Erica! Not to mention Bobby Stevens, Andy Nelson, Linus, Ezra—and that wasn’t even getting to the other girls!

Sure, Kylie didn’t have a curvy body with big tits and a fat ass. Sure, she was left out of Star, Kenny, and Erica’s conversations about back pain because of their massive tits. Tits were overrated anyways, no matter how hot they were. But enough about tits, Erica was getting sidetracked again—

Kylie may have not been curvy, but she had the body of a fucking runway model. She was slim and tall with legs that went on for miles. She had a flat tummy and a thigh gap and collarbones that looked good enough to bite.

Her skin was pale but it was covered in freckles and Erica would actually fall over dead if someone found out how cute she thought Kylie’s damn freckles were. How much she wanted to press her lips against every one of them. How much she wanted to follow their path down from Kylie’s cheeks to her shoulders, down her chest and against her hips, and see how far they went down the waistband of her jeans.

Erica never considered herself an “eye” person until she stared directly into Kylie’s endless green ones glaring her down behind the school at recess. Even then, Erica isn’t sure anyone else could compare to the sheer intensity of Kylie’s gaze. When her eyes narrowed at Erica, the light making them look brighter, almost glowing, electric—Erica felt her breath hitch and a grin pull at her lips from the rush. And they were followed by Kylie’s eyebrows—her thick, dark eyebrows that might have been too bushy for some other girls, but just perfect for Kylie. Erica thought they pushed her expressions just that much farther, made them more intense, more striking.

And don’t even get Erica started on her fucking hair. Kylie’s stupid ginger hair. It stood wild in its tight, springy curls, an unmistakable, unignorable frame of bright red. When Kylie stood in the sun, her flyaways turned gold in the light and Erica thought she looked something otherworldly, with her golden halo and smoldering green eyes.

Her lips were on the thin side but they looked so nice when quirked down into a grimace, or tilted up in a smile. Her canines always seemed a little too sharp when she laughed, and Erica felt the skin on her neck ache when her imagination ran wild upon seeing them.

And, Christ, Erica doesn’t know who the fuck decided big noses were ugly, because clearly that person had never met Kylie fucking Broflovski. Erica loved that big Jew nose. Loved it to fucking bits. She wanted to run her fingertips down it before replacing them with her lips. Yes. Erica Theodora Cartman wanted to kiss a nose. Kylie’s big Jew nose. She wanted to pepper it in dozens of little kisses until Kylie laughed and stopped hating it.

But that’s not to say Erica wasn’t part of the reason Kylie probably hated it. Instead of waxing poetic to the other girl about her beauty Erica insulted every part of Kylie she liked. Partly in repressed feelings, partly in envy.

She wanted a body as thin as Kylie’s so she called her a skinny bitch. She loved Kylie’s height, loved her long legs, so she called her a lanky giraffe. She told Kylie her freckles were ugly, her eyes looked like dead grass, her brows met in the middle, her hair was a mess, and her big, dumb Jew nose was ugly.

But Erica knew what she sounded like when she was lying, even if her practiced words were almost perfect, she could still hear the insecurity in her own voice.

Fortunately, or, unfortunately probably, the only other person who could see through Erica was Kenny.

Kenny goddamned McCormick knew Erica probably better than she knew herself, as a result of being dragged around behind Erica all throughout their childhoods. Kenny was always calling out Erica on her shit. Every time Erica insulted Kylie, Kenny was always right behind her with a single raised eyebrow.

Kenny could be pretty quiet, so Erica always used her as kind of a personal walking diary. Kinda like her stuffed animals. So Erica told Kenny more things than what was probably necessary, but Kenny always listened and never said a word. So Erica kept doing it.

Until Kenny started to fucking meddle. Sometimes Kenny would just make _one_ fucking euphemism, _one_ reference to something Erica said in a time of vulnerability, just nudge Kylie a _little_ closer, and Erica would hate the poor kid as much as she would love her.

Once, Kenny changed Erica’s ringtone to “True Love” by P!nk after Erica offhandedly mentioned the song kinda reminded her of Kylie just a little bit. When her phone went off in the middle of class, Erica fucking panicked and tried to run out of the room as quickly as possible before anyone saw the big, bold contact name “JEW” and a dumb, adorable picture of Kylie after she’d gotten a bucket of paint spilled on her head.

Erica swore she’d never tell Kenny a single thing ever again. But it was hard to break a habit you’ve had since the 1st grade, especially when Kenny made it so easy to forgive her.

Kenny still tried from time to time to play matchmaker, but Erica knew she should just stop trying. It was pretty much hopeless for anything to ever come from it.

Not that Erica had any hope in the first place.

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write som fem kyman but it ended up being a lot of rambling abt pretty girls but yanno sometimes it’s Like That


End file.
